


The Upstairs Bedroom

by nylux



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: First Time, Fluff, M/M, POV Sherlock Holmes, POV Third Person, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-27
Packaged: 2018-09-12 16:56:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9081352
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nylux/pseuds/nylux
Summary: It was not Sherlock's fault that he had nowhere to sleep.





	

Oddly, it was not Sherlock's fault. It was entirely the fault of a rusty pipe, as it was bound to occur in an old building. Strictly speaking, it was not the pipe's fault either. It had only caused a wet spot behind Sherlock's bed, which was annoying enough, but could have been bearable. But then those two imbecilic plumbers has appeared, who, in a joint effort of incompetence, had flooded Sherlock's bedroom and, most notably, Sherlock's bed. As a consequence, the bed frame was currently on the wrong end of the room and the mattress was standing up next to the window to dry. The pipe had been fixed, but it would take at least three more days before Sherlock's room could be considered habitable again.

This situation would not have been problematic per se, if there had not been the issue with the sofa. The sofa that was currently not there. Some people might have blamed Sherlock for that. This was not really fair, though. Mrs Hudson had made it very clear that she did not approve of Sherlock shooting her bloody wall, as she so dramatically put it. So Sherlock had not really had a choice. How else could he have tested the splatter pattern a paintball gun produced when shot from small distances? What Sherlock had somewhat miscalculated were the adhesive properties of the bright-pink colour on leather. Sherlock had told John that, as a graduate chemist, he was perfectly capable of procuring a custom-made detergent tailored to the problem. John, however, had insisted, quite forcibly, that the sofa had to go to a professional cleaner. This was obviously completely unnecessary, but Sherlock had learned during their years together, that there were times when John Watson was not receptive to logical reasoning. He had clearly identified the sofa incident as such a situation and had let John have his way.

Hence, there was no sofa for Sherlock to sleep on. That in itself would not have been so much of a problem either. Sherlock was an expert in not sleeping for three days and more. The actual problem was that he was at forty-one hours without sleep, thanks to paintball-gun-case now successfully solved, with the sofa as the only casualty besides the victim. 

"You need to sleep," John said.

"Can't."

"Sherlock, you have not slept in two days. Since we have finished eating, you have been yawning every two minutes." Sherlock looked up and found John's raised eyebrows aimed at him. 

"I'm fine.'' Sherlock, to his embarrassment, yawned again. "I can sleep in my chair for a while."

"No you won't. I am not going to endure the mood you are in when you have a stiff neck." John's tone was on the verge of commanding, mixed with a dose of concern. 

"You can sleep in my bed if you like."

"And where do you sleep?"

There seemed to be a brief flash of regret on John's face. Sherlock did not know what to make of this. Perhaps he was beginning to hallucinate in his sleep-deprived state. What Sherlock's fatigued brain also noticed somewhat delayed was that John had just invited Sherlock into his bed. And that Sherlock's reply had clearly implied that Sherlock had not considered the idea of sharing.

Stupid. Stupid! Sherlock was suddenly very awake. For years (literal years!) Sherlock's mind had been very creative in coming up with scenarios where they found themselves in some confined space, which, depending on the situation, ended in tearful love confessions. Or vigorous fucking. Or both. Real life, however, had not followed the cliche. It rather involved Sherlock making a mess of the sheets, or the shower. Tearful events may also have occurred, but Sherlock did not like to be reminded of that. An now the cliche had presented itself on a silver platter and Sherlock had reacted in the worst possible way.

"Um..." Sherlock's self-flagellation was interrupted when he realised that John was actually still sitting in his chair across from him, currently biting his lower lip. 

"Well, I could ask Mrs. Hudson if I can sleep on her couch maybe? You should sleep in a bed tonight."

Sherlock felt his mouth fall open. He forced himself to close it again. He was not sure if he managed to get the blinking under control, but that could be attributed to the lack of sleep. Had John just presented him with a second chance? Sherlock decided to put it all on one card. Luckily he was too tired to do a full-fledged analysis of the possible outcomes, or he may not have found the courage.

"I, ..., um, wouldn't that be a bit ridiculous? I mean, we have spent so many nights together. You know, when we were on stake-outs. And that was in places where there was much less space. And, well, if you don't mind, I mean, we would be asleep anyway..." 

Considering the fact that his palms were sweating, that his heart rate was dangerously elevated and that he had trouble keeping his breathing under control, Sherlock found he had done an acceptable job getting this out.

The corners of John's mouth curved upwards for the briefest of moments. Then he began to nod in agreement. And kept nodding. 

"Yes, um, yeah, of course. If you don't mind. Sure." 

Sherlock was relieved for about one second. Then the gravity of what had just happened hit him. He was going to share a bed with John Watson. John would be sleeping less than a metre away from him. Close enough to touch, close enough to smell. 

Oh no. What if Sherlock rolled over in his sleep and wrapped himself around John's deliciously warm body? Or worse, what if he got an erection? Sherlock cursed himself for his own courage. 

John was looking at him expectantly. Obviously he was waiting for Sherlock's confirmation. 

"Alright. Yes, ah, that's good."

John was nodding again. "Okay. Great. Fantastic. Um, now?"

It was still quite early. Only a little after ten, and Sherlock did not feel tired anymore. But now that he had brought doom upon himself, there was not really a point in delaying anything.

"Alright. Now is good."

"Good." John said and got up from his chair. He pointed in the general direction of their (newly repaired) bathroom. "I'll just get ready."

Sherlock nodded as John left. A moment later John was back, now pointing in the general direction of the upstairs bedroom. 

"I need to fetch my pyjamas," he explained and disappeared again. 

It occurred to Sherlock that he would have to change his clothes too. He had not thought about that. He could hardly sleep the way he usually slept. Sherlock had to suppress a few mental images of himself naked in John's bed. He got up and went to the construction site that was his bedroom and changed into his blue pyjama bottoms and a grey T-shirt. He heard that John was busy in the bathroom, brushing his teeth. 

Sherlock did not know what to do with himself, so he went back to the living room and sat in his chair. John reemerged, now dressed in light blue boxer shorts and a white T-shirt and sat down in his chair. 

"Bathroom's yours," John said and reached for his phone. Obviously he intended to wait for Sherlock. "And bring a pillow and a blanket."

Sherlock locked himself in the bathroom and started to brush his teeth. Should he shave? And take a shower? Maybe a wank would not not be a bad idea either. But then, John would probably know what Sherlock was doing in there, so better not. Sherlock went to fetch his pillow and blanket, which had been freshly washed and dried after being almost destroyed during the pipe incident, and went back to the living room. 

"Ready?" John asked. 

"Yes." Actually, Sherlock was not sure if he was really ready. 

"Alright." John got up from his chair and moved towards the stairs. Sherlock followed. He felt like he was embarking on a momentous journey. 

They climbed the stairs in silence. John's bedroom door was open. John stepped inside, but stopped right after crossing the threshold. Sherlock stood next to him, pillow and blanket in his hands. He did not know what the protocol was. Neither did John, it seemed. So they just stood there, staring at John's bed. The bed was a bit smaller than Sherlock's but looked comfortable enough. It was pushed into the far right corner of the small room, so one could only get in from the left side. There was a bedside table with two books, a box of tissues and a water bottle on it. 

It all looked terribly normal and ordinary. Yet, getting into this bed with his best friend turned out to be a highly non-trivial task. Something had to be done. Sherlock took a deep breath.

"So, where do you want to have me?" Sherlock bit on his tongue. He really should not have formulated it _that_ way. He tried to push all the images of _being had_ that were bubbling up inside his head back into a safe deposit box in the Mind Palace. 

"Ah yes." John either had not noticed Sherlock's Freudian slip, or ignored it. 

"Why don't you just get in and make yourself comfortable? I am not really picky when it comes to sleeping arrangements."

Sherlock walked to the bed, moved John's pillow and blanket closer to he nightstand and put his own next to the wall. He turned and gave John a questioning look. 

John moved a step closer."Ready?". 

"Yes." That was a lie. How could anyone be ready for sharing a bed with John Watson? 

Sherlock climbed in and slid under his blanket, trying to leave as much space as possible for John.

"Could you turn on the bedside lamp, please?"

Sherlock leaned over to John's side (there was a "John's side" now) to do as he was told. John turned off the main light, which bathed the room in a soft yellow glow. Then he walked across the room and got into bed with Sherlock as if it were the most natural thing in the world. 

Sherlock could not believe his luck. It was all so real. The motion of the mattress as John was making himself comfortable, John's faint clean smell. Sherlock wanted to move closer to wrap himself around John, to breathe him in, but this was not an option of course. John, ever the caretaker, was just helping a friend in need once again.

Sherlock was lying on his back, staring at the ceiling and waited for John to turn off the light. He was surprised as he felt John turn onto his side to face in Sherlock's direction. Sherlock hesitated for a moment and then turned towards John.

They looked at each other in silence. John was exceptionally beautiful this way, all quiet and relaxed. There was a content smile on his lips. Sherlock could not help but smile back.

"Comfortable?" John asked.

"Very." There was no point in denying it. 

John's smile was growing bigger. "It's funny that we have never done this before."

"What?"

"Well, sharing a bed. We've been travelling so much for cases together. All those times we did not make it back and ended up in some tiny inn on the countryside. Somehow we always managed to get two separate beds."

True. Sherlock had commiserated about their "luck" more than once. There was one thing, though. "Well, we did share a bed once."

John thought for a moment, then started to laugh when he understood what Sherlock meant. "Yes, but that was not for sleeping. And, technically, it was not just the two of us."

Sherlock smiled. There had been a time when John had not been in the mood to quietly joke about the incident. "Yes, it's a bit more relaxed without the snake."

"That was a good case." Sherlock was glad that John thought about it this way now. He had to admit that it could have ended badly. 

"Yes, I like it when the murder weapon is alive."

John giggled. "Yeah, you do. I should make a blog entry dedicated to living weapons."

For some reason this made Sherlock extremely happy. He had to restrain himself from kissing John. Being in bed with him made this considerably harder. 

"I should let you sleep. You look really tired." 

Sherlock was yawning again. He cursed his exhausted transport. Sleeping was the last thing he wanted to do right now, but it seemed that his body did not give him a choice.

John reached over to switch off the lamp.

"Good night, Sherlock."

"Good night, John."

*

Sherlock woke with a start. It took him a moment to realise where he was. And another moment to become aware of the warm mass covering his chest.

"Oh, sorry." John removed his arm quickly and moved away from Sherlock.

"I am sorry I woke you." John's voice sounded slightly embarrassed. "Usually, I just sleep on my back and don't move all night. I don't know what happened."

"It's alright, John." John had no idea how right it had been. Sherlock wanted to have John's arm back. He cursed himself for waking John up. How wonderful it would have been to spend the night with John in his arms. Sherlock closed his eyes and imagined hugging John tightly to himself.

*

When Sherlock woke again the light of dawn was peeking through the half-closed curtains. Sherlock's right arm was stretched across the mattress. John's head was resting comfortably on his right shoulder. His right hand was touching Sherlock's neck as if it were feeling for his pulse. John was breathing quietly, obviously fast asleep. Sherlock tried to hold still in order not to wake John again, but then he could not resist the temptation and carefully bent his outstretched arm to place it on John's shoulder. John stirred but did not wake up. Sherlock turned his head slightly and smelled John's hair. If only he could wake up like this every day.

*

Sherlock must have fallen asleep again. When he opened his eyes it was bright day outside and John was about to disentangle himself from Sherlock. Sherlock stretched his legs in order to let John know that he was awake.

"I'm sorry, Sherlock. I did not mean to assault you in your sleep. I swear, this has never happened before." 

Sherlock, now completely awake and well-rested, made an instantaneous decision. 

"Stay."

John froze. He turned his head to look directly at Sherlock. Sherlock held his gaze and tried hard not to give away his current state of panic.

John's mouth opened and closed for a few times while he was processing the information.

"You mean..." He took a deep breath. "You mean, this is alright?"

"More than alright." Sherlock was both relieved and afraid. Relieved because he had found to courage to say what he had meant to say for ages, afraid of John's reaction. He felt a sudden need to qualify his statement. "That is, only if you want to."

John was still staring at him in disbelief. "I, ..., yes, of course. I did not know you..."

"Yes, I do." Sherlock wanted to pull John into his arms, but did not know if it was time yet. 

John also seemed to be at a loss. He licked his lower lip and tentatively moved in Sherlock's direction.

"May I?"

Sherlock opened his arms and tried to look as welcoming as possible. And then it all fell into place. John moved forward and Sherlock wrapped his arms around him. It felt better than Sherlock could ever have imagined. John's warm body fit against his own perfectly. Sherlock relaxed into the embrace. John's face had come to rest on Sherlock's shoulder again, and his lips moved along Sherlock's skin, almost as if he were kissing him. Sherlock desperately wanted to be kissed by John. He dropped his head into John's hair and began to move his lips the way John did.

John exhaled loudly and began to stroke Sherlock's chest. Sherlock could not suppress a moan when John brushed his left nipple through the T-shirt. He felt his cock twitch in his pyjama pants. John lifted his head and smiled at Sherlock.

"Is it okay if I kiss you?"

How could John even get the idea that this could not be okay? "Yes, please."

John's lips were on his immediately. Sherlock noticed that he was already kissing back. John opened his mouth and so did Sherlock. They both moaned when their tongues touched for the first time. There was no going back from there. Sherlock felt his body act of its own volition, which he was relieved about, because his brain seemed to be useless at the moment. His body only told Sherlock one thing: get closer to John.

Sherlock rolled to his side and took John with him without breaking the kiss. He hooked his left leg over John's hip. This brought their groins together. And there he felt it. That John was just as hard as he was. 

"God, Sherlock," John groaned and kissed Sherlock fervently. Sherlock could hardly believe that John seemed to want this too, that he was just as eager as Sherlock was. John's mouth was assaulting his neck now, while his hand were roaming across Sherlock's torso. His hands slid under Sherlock's shirt. Sherlock could not suppress a moan.

"Let's get you out of this." John helped him get his shirt out of the way and tossed it across the room. Sherlock yelped when John's mouth made contact with his nipple. John stopped and looked up.

"Too much?"

It actually was almost too much for Sherlock, but he did not want John to stop. Ever.

"No. But could you..." Sherlock hesitated.

"What?"

"Could you get naked? Please?"

John laughed. "Yes, that's a good idea. Do you want to help?"

Sherlock did not have to be told twice. He manhandled John into a sitting position and pulled the T-shirt over his head, then pushed him back onto the mattress to remove his shorts. Once he had pulled them off and thrown them across the room he stopped short. John was gorgeous. His cock in particular. Long and thick and leaking all over his belly. Sherlock knew instantly that he wanted to have it inside of him in every possible way. But maybe not this first time. 

"Are you alright?" Sherlock realised that he must have been staring for quite some time.

"God, yes."

John smiled wickedly. "Do you want to give me something to look at, too?" 

Sherlock looked down at himself. Right. His pyjama pants. They were tented in quite an obscene manner. Sherlock stood up on John's bed and made a show of pulling them off. John giggled.

"Fuck, you're hot." Sherlock felt himself blush.

"Come back down here." Sherlock obeyed and kneeled between John's legs. He leaned forward. John met him halfway for a passionate kiss. Sherlock's cock twitched in response. He felt a drop of fluid leak on John's belly below him. 

John looked down between their bodies, then back up at Sherlock. "Sherlock, this is amazing." 

Sherlock could not help but kiss him. It was addictive, like everything about John. Sherlock wanted more body contact, and unceremoniously dropped his full weight onto John. John's arms slid around his back and squeezed Sherlock's arse. Sherlock instinctively pushed his groin against John, which sent sparks of electricity through his whole body. John groaned. 

"Ah, this is good. Keep going." Sherlock did and John countered his movements, which made it even better. They were both panting now, urging each other on by soft grunts. It felt amazing, but it was not quite enough. Their cocks did not align properly, and it was a bit dry.

John seemed to notice that Sherlock was distracted and stopped moving.

"Wait, I have an idea. Sit up."

Sherlock was slightly confused, but did as he was told. John sat up too. 

"Alright, now spread your legs for me."

Sherlock opened his legs. John scooted forward, and wrapped his legs around Sherlock. Their cocks and testicles touched this way.

"Brilliant," Sherlock heard himself say. 

John chuckled. "Thanks." Then he snapped his hips, hitting Sherlock's cock with his own. 

Sherlock moaned loudly. John reached up to cup Sherlock's face and kissed him tenderly. Sherlock wrapped his arms around John and kissed back with enthusiasm. Nothing had ever felt so good. Sherlock felt as if he was about to burst with happiness. And arousal. 

John was kissing his neck now. His hand was moving down do grab hold of both their cocks. 

"Sherlock?" John mumbled, his mouth never leaving Sherlock's skin. "Could you..."

Sherlock understood. He reached behind himself to retrieve a bottle of lube from the drawer in the nightstand. 

"You certainly know your way around here." John chuckled. "Been sneaking around in my drawers?"

Sherlock did his best to look scandalised, which made John laugh out loud, his cock deliciously hitting Sherlock's again.

"No I have not. But you obviously masturbate in here on a regular basis, as I can tell from the strategically placed box of tissues. Knowing that you fully indulge in any of your pastimes it was obvious that there would be a bottle of high-grade lubricant in here."

John leaned his forehead against Sherlock's and giggled uncontrollably. 

"Sherlock, stop deducing my wanking habits while we are having sex."

Sherlock was laughing now, too. "Well, it seems that you like it, given that you currently are leaking an excessive amount of fluid on me."

"Okay, time to shut you up. Give me the bottle. And hold out your hand."

Sherlock let John smear a generous amount of lube onto his right palm.

"Alright, let's give those gigantic hands of yours something to do. Put it around both of us."

Sherlock hooked his thumb around his cock to hold it in place, then reached for John's. They both exhaled loudly when their lengths aligned. John's left hand cupped Sherlock's, and together, they began to stroke. 

John started to move his hips in time with the motion of their hands. Sherlock joined in and they found a rhythm easily. It was pure bliss. Sherlock had had no idea that sex could feel this good.

They tried kissing first, but soon it became too much, and they were reduced to moans. Sherlock felt his orgasm build at an alarming speed. He grunted a warning to John.

"Come on," John said between his moans, "I'm right behind you."

Sherlock pumped up into their joint fists two or three more times and then he was coming hard. The pleasure rushed through him in intense waves. He could hear John shout out and then felt John's penis shoot all over his belly and chest, adding to the mess Sherlock had already made.

They held on to each other while they tried to get their breath back.

John was the first to be capable of speech again. "God, this was amazing."

Sherlock was still catching his breath. "Agreed."

John lifted his head from where it was resting on Sherlock's shoulder. Sherlock reached behind himself to get the tissue box. 

"Just tell me one thing, Sherlock,'' John said, after he had finished cleaning them up a bit. "Did you plan for this to happen? With the bed and everything?"

Sherlock smiled. "No, I did not. But that does not mean that I did not jump at the opportunity when it presented itself."

John gave him a slow, lingering kiss. "I'm glad you did. It took us long enough."

Sherlock looked at John. "You wanted this to happen?"

John smiled, a hint of sadness flashing across his face. 

"Yes, for a long time." 

Sherlock's chest constricted. "Me too."

John hugged Sherlock tightly against his chest. "Then let's not stop."

"Okay." 

John took Sherlock's face in both of his hands. His eyes looked a bit wet, and Sherlock realised this his own might be a little wet too. John gave him a tiny kiss on the lips.

"Tell you what. Let's have a shower and some breakfast. And then we come back here and continue what we have been doing."

"That's acceptable." Sherlock was delighted. 

Why would he need his own bedroom, when there was another one upstairs?


End file.
